Who the Fuck? Graham Coxon

I stole the bottle of gin from over the counter and ran
I knew I'd been seen
I scarpered stifling giggles down the street
And hid round a corner on a side street
I heard him huffing and the sound of his big feet
Against the paving, he was getting close
As he rounded the corner I sighted him up down the barrel of the gun
And on seeing his expression change to one of horror
And confusion jerked back the trigger
His body was jolted back by the force of the bullet
And his feet flew foward
I saw a bright little rivulet of blood arc into the air
And I slid the gun into the waistband of my trousers

Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?
Who the fuck are you looking at?

Is there really a thing like feeling too much?
Can you really escape and numb the real?
There's a way of saying, a way of sayin' a shape
I feel a certain shape and it's complicated it's not like a square or a circle
It's like a crystal or a diamond, it's clean, hard
Unfathomable and it ends in an augmented kiss
It ends in an demented kiss